How is it that I'm in such a happy, giddy mood, in the midst of this dog show craziness? The big Rose City Classic is in less than two weeks. It opens with "Specialty" shows on a Wednesday, meaning individual breed clubs hold their owns shows that are kind of a fun celebration of their breeds. Then the regular all-breed shows start on a Thursday and run through Sunday.
This is hardly a "regular" dog show, though. We have over 3,300 dogs entered by the time we get to the weekend. That's HUGE. Yes, and as someone pointed out to me the other day: That's a lot of dog poop.
I think our "cluster," meaning a group of back-to-back shows that cover more than a 2-day weekend, is still considered the largest indoor dog show west of the Mississippi. (I still think it's funny that we use the Mississippi River as a dividing line when we determine how big something is.)
In a weak moment I was convinced to say "Yes" to being the Show Chairman for our kennel club for 2012 and 2013. It's a 4-day show and we have two of the days, and the other club has the other two. However, what makes this cluster unique, and one of the many things that gets us compliments, is that the two clubs get along well and work to make the 4 days seamless so outside of seeing a different kennel club's name attached to the show information, if you're there, it's pretty darn hard to know the difference from day-to-day. That is often not the case when clusters are produced. It can get very territorial, which seems stupid, but it happens more often than not. Thankfully, our two clubs don't work that way, and we've reaped the benefits of that. The cluster has a fabulous reputation and it's considered one of the top series of dog shows in the U.S.
I think part of the reason we get along is out of necessity because this behemoth is just way too much to handle on your own, and we really need each other to pull this off. When you're putting over 3,300 dogs in a facility that has over 330,000 square feet, and mix in the 2-legged entourages that come with the dogs, it's a matter of survival that you get along. (The 2-legged are the tough ones to handle. The 4-legged ones are easy to deal with.)
With this being my first year as a Show Chair, at times I've felt moments of panic, thinking, "What in the world am I doing?" Thankfully I have a fabulous Show Chair with the other club, who is the lead of the cluster. Mary is the Obi-Wan Kenobi to my floundering Luke Skywalker. I don't know where I would be without her. When you look up the definition of "Grace under pressure" you will find Mary's picture. She's been a teacher, mentor, counselor, ship captain, and a true friend in this last year.
Today as she has been working on the judge overloads, which is what happens when you get an overwhelming number of entries, far beyond what you thought, and you find that your judges now have way more dogs than they're allowed to judge in a day (the limit is 175) so you're then scrambling to hire a few extra judges, I've been working on NEXT year's show with my new partner from their club, John. We all commit to the job for two years, but we stagger when you're a "newbie" so I'll be the veteran for 2013 and John will be the new guy.
As I've dealt with questions from Mary today on this year's show and worked on getting things in order for what's ahead in two weeks, John and I were discussing judges and plans for a year from now. It hit me that in the midst of all of this, I'm loving it! I'm a little shocked because this show has caused plenty of stress in the last year and I've even had moments of resenting how much time it's taken....time when I passed up things with my family, etc., to work on dog show "stuff." But I've made a commitment so I've sucked it up and said, "Get over it!" But today, I'm feeling this giddy happiness. I think part of it is the fear of the unknown is over. I feel comfortable with what it takes to pull this off now.
Secondly, I know it's the core of why I do all of this: I just love dogs. Period. They say most people who step into the dog show world drop out quickly and never make it to even 5 years. If you make it past that point, it's believed you have what it takes to handle it. It's not an easy "hobby," although I think it's not a hobby so much as it's part of your life. It takes a lot of sacrifices and you face a lot of heartbreak and disappointment.
But I still feel the benefits out-weigh the tough times. I have 5 of those benefits snoozing at various locations in the living room at this moment.
It's going to be a fun, crazy, tiring, but rewarding 2 weeks.
With a lot of dog poop.
But that's okay. I can't wait.
Sunday, January 8, 2012
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
A new year and a new attempt at keeping up with my writing. You know how I wrote back in October that I was inspired to write by a guy named Tim Miles who writes a blog called "The Daily Blur?" I was inspired, truly I was. But then Tim never wrote again for the remainder of the year, and it was like that gave ME permission to not write either. Weird rationale there, I know, but I think that happened.
Well, Tim is back and vowing that if he is going to call his blog "The Daily Blur," then he needs to write it DAILY. First-off, I'm glad he feels that way because I can't wait to read it, but I also think it just might keep me in line.
I hope. It's a matter of doing what Tim wrote in his first installment for the year, quoting William Wordsworth, "To begin, begin."
He also wrote about how he thinks it's better to not make a list of overwhelming resolutions for the new year, but rather set a theme for the year that you're going to try to follow in all things you do. He's done things like "The Year of Atonement" and he's dubbed 2012 "The Year of Sucking It Up."
I like this whole idea. One year his theme was "The Year of Saying No." Boy, do I really get THAT one. I'm weak in that area, or have been until about the last year. When somebody asks me to take something on, do this, serve on a board, etc., I've found it difficult to disappoint them, to say "No, I don't have the time," but after having things pile up and spreading myself far too thin, then getting resentful, I've gotten better at saying, "No can do, sorry" and the world hasn't stopped spinning. Go figure.
So, what could be a good theme for me for 2012?
"The Year of Not Saving Boxes" perhaps? Yes, that's another weakness. I hate to throw out boxes. How many times have you needed a great box and you haven't had one? Ha, see, you've experienced that! Well just come to my garage. I'm sure I have one. Actually, I only have a few piling up now, and they ARE sitting by the recycling container. I just haven't broken them down yet. But when I do, I always think, "Oh, but what if I need this exact box for something next week?"
Wait....there's another one: "The Year of Not Asking 'What If?'" That might be a female thing, now that I think about it. We are kind of wired to do that. "But what if I do THAT, and then THIS happens, and THAT happens, and what if when THAT happens, THIS then happens?" You get the picture. Not sure the hormones can enable me to stop that, but I can, and do, work on it.
Perhaps 2012 is "The Year of Folding the Clothes When the Dryer Stops."
Wait, I can tell you right now that is NOT going to happen, so let's just move right along.
Seriously, I'm not sure I have it figured out yet, or maybe I haven't figured out how to put it into words, but when it comes to writing, I think "Editing" is a key theme: Edit myself so that I can write more by writing less (does that make sense? It does to me.) What I mean is, if I edit myself so that I don't write a novel each time, I think I'll be more likely to write fairly frequently. The whole "Less Is More" kind of thing. Like I said, it makes sense to me, so we'll just go with that.
I know in my writing I have edited myself in one sense, in that I've never talked about anything personal, meaning my personal life. There's a reason for that, and if I decide that 2012 is the year where I'm brave enough to go down that path in my writing, so that it's the full picture and not just me talking about life with my dogs, you'll hear about it. I need to give that some more thought, however. Stay tuned. That could be very scary. If I get brave enough to write about it, you'll know why I say that it's scary.
It's interesting how that inability to say no that I spoke of earlier plays into my not having time to write. I couldn't say "No" when asked to be the Show Chairman for this monster of a dog show coming up in 2 weeks, and it's been like a second job this last year. There have been nights when, rather than being up until 1 AM writing my blog, I've been up late dealing with dog show details. Several nights I was close to falling victim to what my 18 year old nephew refers to as "Waffle Face"----when you get so tired while sitting at the computer, you fall forward with your face on the keyboard, fast asleep, waking up to see that those keys left you with waffle-like indentions on your face. My nephew, the computer gaming expert that he is, swears it's happened to him more than once. Waffle face.....who knew?
I still have one more year of my Show Chair duties as once we get past this 2012 dog show in two weeks, it's time to turn our attention to the show in January of 2013. That means I'm going to have to strike a balancing act between all of this.
If you see me some morning looking like a fresh Belgian Waffle, check my blog. I probably was writing the night before.
Well, Tim is back and vowing that if he is going to call his blog "The Daily Blur," then he needs to write it DAILY. First-off, I'm glad he feels that way because I can't wait to read it, but I also think it just might keep me in line.
I hope. It's a matter of doing what Tim wrote in his first installment for the year, quoting William Wordsworth, "To begin, begin."
He also wrote about how he thinks it's better to not make a list of overwhelming resolutions for the new year, but rather set a theme for the year that you're going to try to follow in all things you do. He's done things like "The Year of Atonement" and he's dubbed 2012 "The Year of Sucking It Up."
I like this whole idea. One year his theme was "The Year of Saying No." Boy, do I really get THAT one. I'm weak in that area, or have been until about the last year. When somebody asks me to take something on, do this, serve on a board, etc., I've found it difficult to disappoint them, to say "No, I don't have the time," but after having things pile up and spreading myself far too thin, then getting resentful, I've gotten better at saying, "No can do, sorry" and the world hasn't stopped spinning. Go figure.
So, what could be a good theme for me for 2012?
"The Year of Not Saving Boxes" perhaps? Yes, that's another weakness. I hate to throw out boxes. How many times have you needed a great box and you haven't had one? Ha, see, you've experienced that! Well just come to my garage. I'm sure I have one. Actually, I only have a few piling up now, and they ARE sitting by the recycling container. I just haven't broken them down yet. But when I do, I always think, "Oh, but what if I need this exact box for something next week?"
Wait....there's another one: "The Year of Not Asking 'What If?'" That might be a female thing, now that I think about it. We are kind of wired to do that. "But what if I do THAT, and then THIS happens, and THAT happens, and what if when THAT happens, THIS then happens?" You get the picture. Not sure the hormones can enable me to stop that, but I can, and do, work on it.
Perhaps 2012 is "The Year of Folding the Clothes When the Dryer Stops."
Wait, I can tell you right now that is NOT going to happen, so let's just move right along.
Seriously, I'm not sure I have it figured out yet, or maybe I haven't figured out how to put it into words, but when it comes to writing, I think "Editing" is a key theme: Edit myself so that I can write more by writing less (does that make sense? It does to me.) What I mean is, if I edit myself so that I don't write a novel each time, I think I'll be more likely to write fairly frequently. The whole "Less Is More" kind of thing. Like I said, it makes sense to me, so we'll just go with that.
I know in my writing I have edited myself in one sense, in that I've never talked about anything personal, meaning my personal life. There's a reason for that, and if I decide that 2012 is the year where I'm brave enough to go down that path in my writing, so that it's the full picture and not just me talking about life with my dogs, you'll hear about it. I need to give that some more thought, however. Stay tuned. That could be very scary. If I get brave enough to write about it, you'll know why I say that it's scary.
It's interesting how that inability to say no that I spoke of earlier plays into my not having time to write. I couldn't say "No" when asked to be the Show Chairman for this monster of a dog show coming up in 2 weeks, and it's been like a second job this last year. There have been nights when, rather than being up until 1 AM writing my blog, I've been up late dealing with dog show details. Several nights I was close to falling victim to what my 18 year old nephew refers to as "Waffle Face"----when you get so tired while sitting at the computer, you fall forward with your face on the keyboard, fast asleep, waking up to see that those keys left you with waffle-like indentions on your face. My nephew, the computer gaming expert that he is, swears it's happened to him more than once. Waffle face.....who knew?
I still have one more year of my Show Chair duties as once we get past this 2012 dog show in two weeks, it's time to turn our attention to the show in January of 2013. That means I'm going to have to strike a balancing act between all of this.
If you see me some morning looking like a fresh Belgian Waffle, check my blog. I probably was writing the night before.
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
I'm The Yin To My Yang
I'm not a person who really ever has many moments when I'm just plain grumpy. I'm not really even that way in the morning. (Of course, being single, maybe I don't honestly know. My dogs might say otherwise.)
No, generally I'm upbeat. However, for the last couple of days, I've been what has felt like truly grumpy. I don't think outwardly I've shown it, but I sure have felt it myself, and it's bothered me because I'm just not used to wandering around that way.
At first I wasn't sure what it was, I couldn't put my finger on it. Then it started to come into focus. I recalled when my Mom would say something about Dad being grumpy because he had been forced to realize he was wrong about something and it didn't sit well with him, so he was quietly grumpy. (Mom was usually snickering when she said that.)
It hit me that in all likelihood, that's what was going on with me.
I won't get into the gory details, because the lesson to be learned from what I'm writing doesn't actually have anything to do with the specifics but rather what I realized from the outcome.
I don't know why the timing was such that this happened over the weekend, but in that time, I started to consider that my gut feeling about something had maybe been wrong, and it's something that I don't want to believe, but I think I have to.
I believe there's power in having a positive outlook, never giving up hope, being optimistic, visualizing what you want and thinking if you believe in it hard enough and follow what your gut is telling you, you'll be on the right track.
But the realization hit me over the weekend that, in my old age, I've now come to believe there's a very fine line that separates being hopeful and optimistic, and just being plain stupid.
Optimism and hope are fine to a point, even when others look at you and shake their heads with skepticism and you say, "NO! I'm right. Just you wait and see. I can feel it in my gut. Everything is telling me I'm right."
I think that's been the problem: My gut instinct has now reached the point of conflict. My gut told me I was right to begin with, but now my gut is telling me maybe I was terribly wrong. How can I have that conflict? Which gut instinct am I supposed to believe?! They're both fighting each other.
I laugh about that conflict as it reminds me of when one of my friends had his Dad put together this whole in depth study of my astrological profile. He had commented that Astrology was his Dad's hobby, and that he would be happy to do the full report for me. This was one of those where they need more than just the date and year of your birth, but also the exact minute you were born, where the hospital was located, etc.
When my report came back my friend said to me, "My Dad says he HAS to meet you because he has never seen anybody with a profile that is so full of things that contradict other things. He says this is the wildest one he has ever done. But hey, he says it makes you really fascinating!"
Oh great: The stars are in all-out war in my life. Niiiiiiiice. But hey, it makes me fascinating. Yay me!
So, yeah, it probably only makes sense that my gut instincts like to argue with each other.
It hit me that all of my belief, hope, and optimism has boiled down to me now thinking that I feel pretty stupid. You see, while I'm an optimistic, hopeful person, I'm equally a realist. I have an extremely realistic, logical, practical approach to things. (Refer back to that previous astrology report.)
So while I can wax poetic about hopefulness and optimism, I can also be saying at the same time, "Okay, let's look at this logically."
Just call me Yin and Yang.
I think what it boils down to is I had this cringing realization and I suddenly thought, "You know, girl, I think you may have been really wrong about this. Your optimism and faith have now taken you over the border into Stupid Land."
As I said: That border is a very fine line.
And now cue grumpiness.
I'm not one to give up hope, but I'm also not digging this feeling of thinking that I've been really stupid. I'm not sure what side of that fine line I'm going to end up on in this case.
In the meantime, me, Dopey, Sneezy, Happy, Sleepy, Bashful, and Doc are going to hang out for awhile.
No, generally I'm upbeat. However, for the last couple of days, I've been what has felt like truly grumpy. I don't think outwardly I've shown it, but I sure have felt it myself, and it's bothered me because I'm just not used to wandering around that way.
At first I wasn't sure what it was, I couldn't put my finger on it. Then it started to come into focus. I recalled when my Mom would say something about Dad being grumpy because he had been forced to realize he was wrong about something and it didn't sit well with him, so he was quietly grumpy. (Mom was usually snickering when she said that.)
It hit me that in all likelihood, that's what was going on with me.
I won't get into the gory details, because the lesson to be learned from what I'm writing doesn't actually have anything to do with the specifics but rather what I realized from the outcome.
I don't know why the timing was such that this happened over the weekend, but in that time, I started to consider that my gut feeling about something had maybe been wrong, and it's something that I don't want to believe, but I think I have to.
I believe there's power in having a positive outlook, never giving up hope, being optimistic, visualizing what you want and thinking if you believe in it hard enough and follow what your gut is telling you, you'll be on the right track.
But the realization hit me over the weekend that, in my old age, I've now come to believe there's a very fine line that separates being hopeful and optimistic, and just being plain stupid.
Optimism and hope are fine to a point, even when others look at you and shake their heads with skepticism and you say, "NO! I'm right. Just you wait and see. I can feel it in my gut. Everything is telling me I'm right."
I think that's been the problem: My gut instinct has now reached the point of conflict. My gut told me I was right to begin with, but now my gut is telling me maybe I was terribly wrong. How can I have that conflict? Which gut instinct am I supposed to believe?! They're both fighting each other.
I laugh about that conflict as it reminds me of when one of my friends had his Dad put together this whole in depth study of my astrological profile. He had commented that Astrology was his Dad's hobby, and that he would be happy to do the full report for me. This was one of those where they need more than just the date and year of your birth, but also the exact minute you were born, where the hospital was located, etc.
When my report came back my friend said to me, "My Dad says he HAS to meet you because he has never seen anybody with a profile that is so full of things that contradict other things. He says this is the wildest one he has ever done. But hey, he says it makes you really fascinating!"
Oh great: The stars are in all-out war in my life. Niiiiiiiice. But hey, it makes me fascinating. Yay me!
So, yeah, it probably only makes sense that my gut instincts like to argue with each other.
It hit me that all of my belief, hope, and optimism has boiled down to me now thinking that I feel pretty stupid. You see, while I'm an optimistic, hopeful person, I'm equally a realist. I have an extremely realistic, logical, practical approach to things. (Refer back to that previous astrology report.)
So while I can wax poetic about hopefulness and optimism, I can also be saying at the same time, "Okay, let's look at this logically."
Just call me Yin and Yang.
I think what it boils down to is I had this cringing realization and I suddenly thought, "You know, girl, I think you may have been really wrong about this. Your optimism and faith have now taken you over the border into Stupid Land."
As I said: That border is a very fine line.
And now cue grumpiness.
I'm not one to give up hope, but I'm also not digging this feeling of thinking that I've been really stupid. I'm not sure what side of that fine line I'm going to end up on in this case.
In the meantime, me, Dopey, Sneezy, Happy, Sleepy, Bashful, and Doc are going to hang out for awhile.
Friday, October 14, 2011
Inspiration From the Wizard
"Write" the Wizard says. "Write even when you don't feel like it. Especially when you don't feel like it."
The aforementioned "Wizard" is actually a very talented guy by the name of Tim Miles. He's a Senior Partner in a strategic planning and communications group called Wizard of Ads. Yesterday I was lucky enough to be treated to over 3 hours of hearing him talk about advertising in America and what a business needs to do to be successful at it.
I couldn't wait to get to the presentation because I actually had just discovered Tim and became a huge fan only a week earlier.
As I was looking up the details about the seminar offered by the Portland Area Radio Council, I saw a link to Tim's blog on PARC's website. That particular link took me to one of his installments where he was writing about a radio campaign for a local roofing company which, in and of itself, was great, but it got me to clicking on other industry pieces he had written, and the next thing I knew I had made it to his blog website, www.thedailyblur.com
That's when it happened.
By "it" I mean I found the section of Tim's blog where he talks about life in general. His wife, his children, his sister, his routine, his observations, his nerdliness, things he's learned about life, you name it, he touches on it. I couldn't stop reading. One blog installment after another I was reading, and reading, and reading.
Then I hit upon this particular piece entitled, "A Certain Conceit." In it, he starts out apologizing for not writing, then points out that all of the so-called "smart" bloggers tell you never to point out that you haven't been writing, and he's breaking that rule. But he says the smart bloggers have what he doesn't have: The conceit, or maybe just plain confidence, to write publicly all the time.
From there, he explains that he had a revelation and knows he just has to follow his love of writing and simply write, and not worry about thinking who is out there wanting to read it, that he'll write about what interests him and hope that others will come along for the ride.
I read those words and thought, "That's it!" I've had those same exact self-doubts. Does anyone really give a rusty-rip about what I have to say?
Speaking of "Rusty-Rip"...Tim would say it's okay for me to use the dorky phrases and words I say in my writing. He also jokes about how he makes up words and knows he shouldn't end a sentence in a preposition but he doesn't care, he'll do it anyway.
That's also plagued me. I always envision my AP English Teacher, Mr. Pease, waiting to haunt me. Mr. Pease knew I was headed off for a career in radio when I walked out the door of his classroom on the last day of my Senior year in high school, because I was already working at a station each day after school. He was standing at the door to give a handshake to each of us as we departed and when he got to me, he said in his stern voice, "Miss DuPre', you have a gift with words. Don't squander it."
Those words have been ringing in my ears for years. Many times I've wondered if Mr. Pease would think I've squandered everything.
Each time I've written an installment for my blog, I picture Mr. Pease shaking his head in disappointment because I left a participle danging, or committed some other writing offense.
Like saying "Rusty-rip."
And starting out a sentence with "like"....or "and."
But here was Tim saying it was okay to let things dangle. It was okay to write "wanna" and "kinda" because you just kinda wanna do it!
I felt liberated. Free at last!!
I then found another piece Tim wrote in answer to people who tell him, "I want to do what you do." That's the one that really did it for me. He got to a part where he talked about writing and he just said, "Write. Write even when you don't feel like it. Especially when you don't feel like it."
There it is again, that simple statement. "Write." In another place he says, "You want to write? Write. That's really it."
You wanna write, Lisa? Then write.
Write.
Alright, I'll write!
The funny, surreal thing about all this is I didn't think I was going to be able to even go to the seminar. When my calendar cleared and I realized I could, it was already full, so I put my name on the waiting list, and figured my fate was in the hands of somebody else canceling and that didn't seem likely.
Then I heard from Melissa at PARC that she had found a seat for me. By this time, I had read so much of what Tim had written, that I could not wait to get there to hear his presentation. Afterwards, Melissa said, "I want to introduce you to Tim, because I told him how successful your fair was this last year and how you had changed your marketing approach."
In my head I was going, "Okay, Lisa, don't be your nerdly self and geek-out." I didn't want to gush like a groupie, but what he had to say and what he wrote really inspired and encouraged me, at a time when I wondered if anything could get me excited anymore.
After we talked "business" I said, "You know, I love your blog, and not just the industry-related pieces, but I really love what you write about life, in general." I told him he had given me the nudge to get back into writing my blog, and he said, "Oh, I want to read it! Email me the link to it."
I tried to act cool about it, but I had an internal "Gulp!" thinking, "Oh, no! Now I HAVE to write!"
But, that's what the Wizard said to do.
Write.
Just write.
Even when you don't give a rusty-rip and kinda don't wanna do it.
Just write.
The aforementioned "Wizard" is actually a very talented guy by the name of Tim Miles. He's a Senior Partner in a strategic planning and communications group called Wizard of Ads. Yesterday I was lucky enough to be treated to over 3 hours of hearing him talk about advertising in America and what a business needs to do to be successful at it.
I couldn't wait to get to the presentation because I actually had just discovered Tim and became a huge fan only a week earlier.
As I was looking up the details about the seminar offered by the Portland Area Radio Council, I saw a link to Tim's blog on PARC's website. That particular link took me to one of his installments where he was writing about a radio campaign for a local roofing company which, in and of itself, was great, but it got me to clicking on other industry pieces he had written, and the next thing I knew I had made it to his blog website, www.thedailyblur.com
That's when it happened.
By "it" I mean I found the section of Tim's blog where he talks about life in general. His wife, his children, his sister, his routine, his observations, his nerdliness, things he's learned about life, you name it, he touches on it. I couldn't stop reading. One blog installment after another I was reading, and reading, and reading.
Then I hit upon this particular piece entitled, "A Certain Conceit." In it, he starts out apologizing for not writing, then points out that all of the so-called "smart" bloggers tell you never to point out that you haven't been writing, and he's breaking that rule. But he says the smart bloggers have what he doesn't have: The conceit, or maybe just plain confidence, to write publicly all the time.
From there, he explains that he had a revelation and knows he just has to follow his love of writing and simply write, and not worry about thinking who is out there wanting to read it, that he'll write about what interests him and hope that others will come along for the ride.
I read those words and thought, "That's it!" I've had those same exact self-doubts. Does anyone really give a rusty-rip about what I have to say?
Speaking of "Rusty-Rip"...Tim would say it's okay for me to use the dorky phrases and words I say in my writing. He also jokes about how he makes up words and knows he shouldn't end a sentence in a preposition but he doesn't care, he'll do it anyway.
That's also plagued me. I always envision my AP English Teacher, Mr. Pease, waiting to haunt me. Mr. Pease knew I was headed off for a career in radio when I walked out the door of his classroom on the last day of my Senior year in high school, because I was already working at a station each day after school. He was standing at the door to give a handshake to each of us as we departed and when he got to me, he said in his stern voice, "Miss DuPre', you have a gift with words. Don't squander it."
Those words have been ringing in my ears for years. Many times I've wondered if Mr. Pease would think I've squandered everything.
Each time I've written an installment for my blog, I picture Mr. Pease shaking his head in disappointment because I left a participle danging, or committed some other writing offense.
Like saying "Rusty-rip."
And starting out a sentence with "like"....or "and."
But here was Tim saying it was okay to let things dangle. It was okay to write "wanna" and "kinda" because you just kinda wanna do it!
I felt liberated. Free at last!!
I then found another piece Tim wrote in answer to people who tell him, "I want to do what you do." That's the one that really did it for me. He got to a part where he talked about writing and he just said, "Write. Write even when you don't feel like it. Especially when you don't feel like it."
There it is again, that simple statement. "Write." In another place he says, "You want to write? Write. That's really it."
You wanna write, Lisa? Then write.
Write.
Alright, I'll write!
The funny, surreal thing about all this is I didn't think I was going to be able to even go to the seminar. When my calendar cleared and I realized I could, it was already full, so I put my name on the waiting list, and figured my fate was in the hands of somebody else canceling and that didn't seem likely.
Then I heard from Melissa at PARC that she had found a seat for me. By this time, I had read so much of what Tim had written, that I could not wait to get there to hear his presentation. Afterwards, Melissa said, "I want to introduce you to Tim, because I told him how successful your fair was this last year and how you had changed your marketing approach."
In my head I was going, "Okay, Lisa, don't be your nerdly self and geek-out." I didn't want to gush like a groupie, but what he had to say and what he wrote really inspired and encouraged me, at a time when I wondered if anything could get me excited anymore.
After we talked "business" I said, "You know, I love your blog, and not just the industry-related pieces, but I really love what you write about life, in general." I told him he had given me the nudge to get back into writing my blog, and he said, "Oh, I want to read it! Email me the link to it."
I tried to act cool about it, but I had an internal "Gulp!" thinking, "Oh, no! Now I HAVE to write!"
But, that's what the Wizard said to do.
Write.
Just write.
Even when you don't give a rusty-rip and kinda don't wanna do it.
Just write.
Friday, September 9, 2011
I Can Handle The Snoring All Night....IF He's Cute!
While my last installment took a very serious tone, that's not normally how I am, nor how my writing usually is. So in getting back to the crazy stuff I deal with day-in and day-out, it's time I introduce the new male in my life, who is snoring next to me at this very moment on the love seat, just as loud as he snores all night.
(At this point, some of my friends who worry about me and my single status are going, "What?! Hallelujah! What's his name??!! When can we meet him? Oh, we told you there was one out there for you!!")
Hold your horses, people. Yes, his snoring keeps me up at night, and I adore him to no end, but he walks on 4 legs, not 2.
The new male in my life is Obi, the Pug:
Come on, this can't be a surprise. You know I always say I can trust giving my heart to the 4 legged guys much easier than overcoming the caution I have with the 2-legged ones. You never have to wonder how the 4 legged ones feel about you. They just come up and slobber all over your face, and that's much easier to figure out.
I've actually carried a torch for Obi from the moment I first met him 6 years ago. I found him for my nephew, Cody, who was 12 years old at the time. My friend, Kay, happens to breed and show fabulous Pugs, and Obi is the son of one of her dogs.
We didn't know it at the time, but Cody soon developed an allergy to dogs with coats like a Pug's. The Norwegian Elkhound coat doesn't bother him at all, but it's a very different type of coat. While Obi loved Cody, he equally loved Cody's Mom, my sister Tami, so the fact that Cody couldn't nuzzle and wrestle with him, didn't really bother him that much.
As Cody grew up, his desire to have his own Elkhound grew as well, and a year and a half ago, the opportunity presented itself for me to buy a very nice male Elkhound puppy to show. It ended up that Cody and I decided to co-own the dog, now known as Espen, and that he would live with Cody and be his dog, and then I would show him.
Cody and Espen have this amazing bond.....a bond that did NOT sit well with Obi. He did a, "What is THIS?!! What am I?--Chopped liver?!"
It was actually quite cute when Espen first arrived, because for a very small period of time, he was actually a bit shorter than Obi, and during that period, all was well. Obi did the old, "Here kid, I'll show you the ropes" and Espen willingly followed along, all wide-eyed puppy. But in no time, he was taller than Obi, and Espen has this very confident, arrogant swagger about him (no doubt taught to him BY Obi) that you just knew would likely not mix well, if Obi countered with his own arrogant swagger. Espen meant well, and genuinely loved to play with Obi, but by now, Obi had a jealous chip on his shoulder and was ready to lash out.
In recent months, his jealously of Espen was getting more intense, and Espen would put up with a lot from Obi, literally turning the other cheek to ignore Obi, but at times Obi would get nasty enough to where Espen would have enough and lash out. Our fear was that something could happen and we knew the one who would come out on the short end was Obi.
Oddly enough, Obi has no issues with my Elkhounds, but then again, it's nothing like the scenario he had where Espen came in to compete for the attention of Cody. When I saw what was happening, I gave it a lot of thought, and finally said, "Why don't we see how Obi would do at my place with my dogs."
So, about a month ago, Obi packed his crate, his "blankies", and this toys, and joined my crew. Thankfully, he fit in beautifully from day one. Now, don't get me wrong, he still believes he's a bad-ass, but no one else does. Saber, who is almost 10, and the "Lead Dog," gives Obi a look that says, "Really??! Are you serious? Please!" and turns his back on him, and Obi has truly figured it out, and basically gives Saber a wide path. He's much the same with Paige, and with old Miniature Poodle, Savannah, he actually likes to sleep beside her on the couch. The one he does push around, and the one who lets him...for now...is 1 year old, Aksel. He does a, "Sure, whatever you say, Obi!" As long as Aksel can swallow his pride and keep doing that, they'll get along just fine. Time will tell, and I'm sure I'll have to keep my eye on the two of them, but they're getting along fine now.
Me? I love, love, LOVE the dog. I almost feel guilty about it. Like I said, I've always adored him, so I was truly giddy when I got to bring him home, and in all honesty, I think he's happier. The situation with Cody having a new dog in his life really was a hard thing for Obi to handle with how obsessed he was with Cody, and he doesn't have to struggle with anything like that now. He knows his place in the gang at my house.
That place is usually next to me each evening, snoring....LOUDLY.
Rest assured, everybody: There's still room for a 2-legged male to loudly snore next to me.
I think Obi will move over and make room.
(At this point, some of my friends who worry about me and my single status are going, "What?! Hallelujah! What's his name??!! When can we meet him? Oh, we told you there was one out there for you!!")
Hold your horses, people. Yes, his snoring keeps me up at night, and I adore him to no end, but he walks on 4 legs, not 2.
The new male in my life is Obi, the Pug:
Come on, this can't be a surprise. You know I always say I can trust giving my heart to the 4 legged guys much easier than overcoming the caution I have with the 2-legged ones. You never have to wonder how the 4 legged ones feel about you. They just come up and slobber all over your face, and that's much easier to figure out.
I've actually carried a torch for Obi from the moment I first met him 6 years ago. I found him for my nephew, Cody, who was 12 years old at the time. My friend, Kay, happens to breed and show fabulous Pugs, and Obi is the son of one of her dogs.
We didn't know it at the time, but Cody soon developed an allergy to dogs with coats like a Pug's. The Norwegian Elkhound coat doesn't bother him at all, but it's a very different type of coat. While Obi loved Cody, he equally loved Cody's Mom, my sister Tami, so the fact that Cody couldn't nuzzle and wrestle with him, didn't really bother him that much.
As Cody grew up, his desire to have his own Elkhound grew as well, and a year and a half ago, the opportunity presented itself for me to buy a very nice male Elkhound puppy to show. It ended up that Cody and I decided to co-own the dog, now known as Espen, and that he would live with Cody and be his dog, and then I would show him.
Cody and Espen have this amazing bond.....a bond that did NOT sit well with Obi. He did a, "What is THIS?!! What am I?--Chopped liver?!"
It was actually quite cute when Espen first arrived, because for a very small period of time, he was actually a bit shorter than Obi, and during that period, all was well. Obi did the old, "Here kid, I'll show you the ropes" and Espen willingly followed along, all wide-eyed puppy. But in no time, he was taller than Obi, and Espen has this very confident, arrogant swagger about him (no doubt taught to him BY Obi) that you just knew would likely not mix well, if Obi countered with his own arrogant swagger. Espen meant well, and genuinely loved to play with Obi, but by now, Obi had a jealous chip on his shoulder and was ready to lash out.
In recent months, his jealously of Espen was getting more intense, and Espen would put up with a lot from Obi, literally turning the other cheek to ignore Obi, but at times Obi would get nasty enough to where Espen would have enough and lash out. Our fear was that something could happen and we knew the one who would come out on the short end was Obi.
Oddly enough, Obi has no issues with my Elkhounds, but then again, it's nothing like the scenario he had where Espen came in to compete for the attention of Cody. When I saw what was happening, I gave it a lot of thought, and finally said, "Why don't we see how Obi would do at my place with my dogs."
So, about a month ago, Obi packed his crate, his "blankies", and this toys, and joined my crew. Thankfully, he fit in beautifully from day one. Now, don't get me wrong, he still believes he's a bad-ass, but no one else does. Saber, who is almost 10, and the "Lead Dog," gives Obi a look that says, "Really??! Are you serious? Please!" and turns his back on him, and Obi has truly figured it out, and basically gives Saber a wide path. He's much the same with Paige, and with old Miniature Poodle, Savannah, he actually likes to sleep beside her on the couch. The one he does push around, and the one who lets him...for now...is 1 year old, Aksel. He does a, "Sure, whatever you say, Obi!" As long as Aksel can swallow his pride and keep doing that, they'll get along just fine. Time will tell, and I'm sure I'll have to keep my eye on the two of them, but they're getting along fine now.
Me? I love, love, LOVE the dog. I almost feel guilty about it. Like I said, I've always adored him, so I was truly giddy when I got to bring him home, and in all honesty, I think he's happier. The situation with Cody having a new dog in his life really was a hard thing for Obi to handle with how obsessed he was with Cody, and he doesn't have to struggle with anything like that now. He knows his place in the gang at my house.
That place is usually next to me each evening, snoring....LOUDLY.
Rest assured, everybody: There's still room for a 2-legged male to loudly snore next to me.
I think Obi will move over and make room.
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
Eat the Burger When You Have the Chance
Supposedly, the more days you walk this earth, the more wisdom you acquire. So far in my life, I would say that's true. You start to see things, patterns, etc., to where you go, "Oh, I know how this is going to go down." You try to warn and protect those who are younger, hoping you're going to save them, but then you see that youthful look of doubt, and you just grin to yourself, and realize it's not something you can tell them, but something they're just going to have to learn for themselves.
Yet, at the same time that think I'm becoming a wise old broad, there are still those things that happen that drive a point home, yet again, and I think, "Dang, when will I get to where I remember this? When will I learn?" That moment hit me last night.
I found out yesterday that the husband of one of my sister's friends drowned on Sunday. My Mom called me and asked if I had heard the story on the news and realized who it was. I told her no, I hadn't heard. When she told me, there was that moment where everything just paused, and I thought, "No...that can't be. That's just not right."
Michael was 45 years old, and in top shape. He even taught a fitness class at a nearby health club in his spare time. He had his boat anchored off-shore and was swimming out to it. His friends said he took off, and the next thing they knew he was floating motionless in the water, between the shore and the boat. They got to him, administered CPR, as did the rescue crew that arrived shortly, but they couldn't revive him.
My first question was whether his wife, Amy, and their daughter, Stevie, who I think is about 12 years old, were there when it happened. At that point my Mom said my sister didn't know and we both said we certainly hoped they weren't. That was just too horrible to think about.
I had to deal with work, so I didn't dwell on it at that moment, I had to file it away for the time being, but it gnawed at me all day long.
I had a dog club meeting I had to be at last evening and it wasn't until the drive home, when I was by myself in the car in the dark, without the radio on, that I really started to think about it. It was a long drive home.
I hadn't been around Michael a lot, but I remembered that when I had been, I really liked him. I clearly remembered when I first met him. Stevie was very young and he had taken her to this great toy store on Main Street. She was named after Michael and Amy's favorite singer, Stevie Nicks, and she has this head of wild blonde naturally curly hair, kind of like how Stevie Nicks' hair used to look. I don't remember how it all went down, if I was with my sister or my Mom, but I just remember we suddenly realized the cute little girl with the curly hair playing with the toys was Stevie, then we spotted Michael and I was introduced to him. He was really friendly and outgoing and I recall genuinely liking him immediately. He worked for a business at the airport next to the studios of the radio station where I was working, and we talked about some people we both knew around the airport as a result of that.
I chuckled recalling how Michael used to sneak Stevie out to eat fast-food burgers because, for a time, Amy decided she wanted to be a vegetarian, but Michael would say he didn't want Stevie to miss out on the joys of a burger. Amy is a Physical Therapist, and she worked odd hours now and then, which gave Michael lots of time with Stevie, so that's when he would sneak her out for their burger runs without Mom knowing.
The more I thought about those things, the more I thought about Stevie and Amy last night on my drive home, trying to imagine what they were going through, losing Michael so suddenly, and hoping above everything, that Stevie wasn't standing on that beach Sunday afternoon.
My Mom told me today that Amy had finally talked to my sister. Thankfully, she and Stevie weren't there when it happened. In another of those cruel twists of fate in life, Michael had just finished writing his thesis for his degree in Psychology and Saturday he had taken it to be bound. She said he was so excited to have it done that they had a little celebration with friends Saturday night. On Sunday, it was such a warm day, that Michael wanted to take the boat out, but Amy said she didn't want to go, and that she and Stevie had other things to do to get ready for school. As a result, Michael said he would go teach his class at the health club, and then he and some friends were going to take the boat to the island.
Amy said the friends all told her when Michael took off swimming, it was with good, strong strokes, headed right for the boat, and the next thing they knew, he was floating in the water. The medical examiner told Amy he had a large abrasion on his head, and upon seeing that, they looked up the time the tide changed on Sunday. Sure enough, the tide had changed at the time he was swimming out to the boat. Their conclusion is that when the tide shifted, it kicked up some form of debris, a tree limb or something even bigger, that hit Michael in the head. It was either the blow that killed him, or it knocked him unconscious, resulting in him drowning, which explains why it happened so suddenly.
When I heard that today, and then hung up the phone, I had this moment where I just paused to absorb it. One minute Michael was there and perfectly fine. The next minute, he was gone. Yet another cruel twist of fate and timing. Had he went in a tad bit earlier, or a tad bit later, the outcome might have been very different and he would have made it to the boat just fine. But it didn't happen that way. Just like that, it was over.
It struck me as being something so fast, that it equated to somebody just walking out of the house into the garage, and yet they never walk back in a few minutes later like you thought they would. Instantly, they're gone.
The profound sadness of this has just really hit me. I can't stop thinking of Stevie and Amy. I wonder if it's really hit them. But more than anything, referring to what I said earlier about wondering when I would learn certain lessons and have more wisdom on some things, it drives home the point to me, yet again, that you can't waste time, and you can't put off things. I keep thinking about how much of the time I spend thinking of what's ahead down the road, planning and preparing, or how many times I say, or I hear somebody else say, "I can't take time for that in my life now. I have to get these other things taken care of and all in order, THEN, I can do that." Yeah, well, maybe......but maybe not.
My sister said that Amy told her Stevie has been taking a Tai Kwon Do class and she's scheduled to take her test for her next belt on Friday. Her instructor came to the house yesterday to see her and told her it was up to her to decide what she wanted to do, but it was understandable if she didn't want to try for it. But Stevie said, "No Mom. I'm going to class this week and then I'm taking my test Friday." Amy said she thought, "More power to you, Girl!" and was very proud of her.
She's clearly a tough kid. Maybe it's all those burgers she ate on those clandestine burger runs with her Dad.
Lesson learned: Sometimes the best thing you can do is just eat the burger when you have the chance.
Yet, at the same time that think I'm becoming a wise old broad, there are still those things that happen that drive a point home, yet again, and I think, "Dang, when will I get to where I remember this? When will I learn?" That moment hit me last night.
I found out yesterday that the husband of one of my sister's friends drowned on Sunday. My Mom called me and asked if I had heard the story on the news and realized who it was. I told her no, I hadn't heard. When she told me, there was that moment where everything just paused, and I thought, "No...that can't be. That's just not right."
Michael was 45 years old, and in top shape. He even taught a fitness class at a nearby health club in his spare time. He had his boat anchored off-shore and was swimming out to it. His friends said he took off, and the next thing they knew he was floating motionless in the water, between the shore and the boat. They got to him, administered CPR, as did the rescue crew that arrived shortly, but they couldn't revive him.
My first question was whether his wife, Amy, and their daughter, Stevie, who I think is about 12 years old, were there when it happened. At that point my Mom said my sister didn't know and we both said we certainly hoped they weren't. That was just too horrible to think about.
I had to deal with work, so I didn't dwell on it at that moment, I had to file it away for the time being, but it gnawed at me all day long.
I had a dog club meeting I had to be at last evening and it wasn't until the drive home, when I was by myself in the car in the dark, without the radio on, that I really started to think about it. It was a long drive home.
I hadn't been around Michael a lot, but I remembered that when I had been, I really liked him. I clearly remembered when I first met him. Stevie was very young and he had taken her to this great toy store on Main Street. She was named after Michael and Amy's favorite singer, Stevie Nicks, and she has this head of wild blonde naturally curly hair, kind of like how Stevie Nicks' hair used to look. I don't remember how it all went down, if I was with my sister or my Mom, but I just remember we suddenly realized the cute little girl with the curly hair playing with the toys was Stevie, then we spotted Michael and I was introduced to him. He was really friendly and outgoing and I recall genuinely liking him immediately. He worked for a business at the airport next to the studios of the radio station where I was working, and we talked about some people we both knew around the airport as a result of that.
I chuckled recalling how Michael used to sneak Stevie out to eat fast-food burgers because, for a time, Amy decided she wanted to be a vegetarian, but Michael would say he didn't want Stevie to miss out on the joys of a burger. Amy is a Physical Therapist, and she worked odd hours now and then, which gave Michael lots of time with Stevie, so that's when he would sneak her out for their burger runs without Mom knowing.
The more I thought about those things, the more I thought about Stevie and Amy last night on my drive home, trying to imagine what they were going through, losing Michael so suddenly, and hoping above everything, that Stevie wasn't standing on that beach Sunday afternoon.
My Mom told me today that Amy had finally talked to my sister. Thankfully, she and Stevie weren't there when it happened. In another of those cruel twists of fate in life, Michael had just finished writing his thesis for his degree in Psychology and Saturday he had taken it to be bound. She said he was so excited to have it done that they had a little celebration with friends Saturday night. On Sunday, it was such a warm day, that Michael wanted to take the boat out, but Amy said she didn't want to go, and that she and Stevie had other things to do to get ready for school. As a result, Michael said he would go teach his class at the health club, and then he and some friends were going to take the boat to the island.
Amy said the friends all told her when Michael took off swimming, it was with good, strong strokes, headed right for the boat, and the next thing they knew, he was floating in the water. The medical examiner told Amy he had a large abrasion on his head, and upon seeing that, they looked up the time the tide changed on Sunday. Sure enough, the tide had changed at the time he was swimming out to the boat. Their conclusion is that when the tide shifted, it kicked up some form of debris, a tree limb or something even bigger, that hit Michael in the head. It was either the blow that killed him, or it knocked him unconscious, resulting in him drowning, which explains why it happened so suddenly.
When I heard that today, and then hung up the phone, I had this moment where I just paused to absorb it. One minute Michael was there and perfectly fine. The next minute, he was gone. Yet another cruel twist of fate and timing. Had he went in a tad bit earlier, or a tad bit later, the outcome might have been very different and he would have made it to the boat just fine. But it didn't happen that way. Just like that, it was over.
It struck me as being something so fast, that it equated to somebody just walking out of the house into the garage, and yet they never walk back in a few minutes later like you thought they would. Instantly, they're gone.
The profound sadness of this has just really hit me. I can't stop thinking of Stevie and Amy. I wonder if it's really hit them. But more than anything, referring to what I said earlier about wondering when I would learn certain lessons and have more wisdom on some things, it drives home the point to me, yet again, that you can't waste time, and you can't put off things. I keep thinking about how much of the time I spend thinking of what's ahead down the road, planning and preparing, or how many times I say, or I hear somebody else say, "I can't take time for that in my life now. I have to get these other things taken care of and all in order, THEN, I can do that." Yeah, well, maybe......but maybe not.
My sister said that Amy told her Stevie has been taking a Tai Kwon Do class and she's scheduled to take her test for her next belt on Friday. Her instructor came to the house yesterday to see her and told her it was up to her to decide what she wanted to do, but it was understandable if she didn't want to try for it. But Stevie said, "No Mom. I'm going to class this week and then I'm taking my test Friday." Amy said she thought, "More power to you, Girl!" and was very proud of her.
She's clearly a tough kid. Maybe it's all those burgers she ate on those clandestine burger runs with her Dad.
Lesson learned: Sometimes the best thing you can do is just eat the burger when you have the chance.
Monday, September 5, 2011
Happy New Year! Really....I'm Serious
In the final hours of September 5, I'm realizing I'm 5 days behind on my New Year's resolution to write my blog more frequently. "New Year's Resolution?" you say, with a question in your voice (you ARE saying it with a question in your voice, aren't you?)
Yes, in the "World According To Lisa," I look at your birthday as being your REAL "new" year and my birthday is in mid-August, so it always gets me thinking about what I'm going to do differently in the next year. Add to that the fact that I've never really moved past the idea of September being the start of a new year, going back to my school days, and you end up with me always with the feeling that things have a fresh start in September.
My friend, Chloe, has to write a blog as part of her job, and her latest installment talks about how she's really good at procrastinating in 3 areas: Calling her Mother, cleaning her house, and writing her blog. When I read that, I laughed out loud as I'm right there with her on two of those. Now me, I talk to my Mom nearly every day, so I can't join her on that one, but absolutely, I procrastinate on cleaning the house, and well, when you consider that I last wrote on May 31, you know I also have "Blog Commitment" issues as well. Wouldn't you think that if we're not cleaning the house we should then clearly have time to write? Wouldn't those go hand-in-hand? You would think so, but I've not found that to be the case.
So, Chloe has made the same vow I have and that is to write frequently enough so that when we DO write, it's not about how long it's been since we last wrote.
Oh yeah, and I've also resolved to not put off the house-cleaning either. Imagine that: I have a fully cleaned house AND I'm writing regularly. That's a hard concept to grasp. Maybe I'll just end up writing about what part of the house I just cleaned. Riveting, huh?
I've also made a resolution to fold and put away the laundry, to stop saving so many boxes all in the theory that one might be the "perfect" box for something next week (fell off the wagon on that one awhile ago,) and it seems like I made some other resolutions but they escape me at the moment.
See, if I had been writing about them, I would probably remember them!
Yes, in the "World According To Lisa," I look at your birthday as being your REAL "new" year and my birthday is in mid-August, so it always gets me thinking about what I'm going to do differently in the next year. Add to that the fact that I've never really moved past the idea of September being the start of a new year, going back to my school days, and you end up with me always with the feeling that things have a fresh start in September.
My friend, Chloe, has to write a blog as part of her job, and her latest installment talks about how she's really good at procrastinating in 3 areas: Calling her Mother, cleaning her house, and writing her blog. When I read that, I laughed out loud as I'm right there with her on two of those. Now me, I talk to my Mom nearly every day, so I can't join her on that one, but absolutely, I procrastinate on cleaning the house, and well, when you consider that I last wrote on May 31, you know I also have "Blog Commitment" issues as well. Wouldn't you think that if we're not cleaning the house we should then clearly have time to write? Wouldn't those go hand-in-hand? You would think so, but I've not found that to be the case.
So, Chloe has made the same vow I have and that is to write frequently enough so that when we DO write, it's not about how long it's been since we last wrote.
Oh yeah, and I've also resolved to not put off the house-cleaning either. Imagine that: I have a fully cleaned house AND I'm writing regularly. That's a hard concept to grasp. Maybe I'll just end up writing about what part of the house I just cleaned. Riveting, huh?
I've also made a resolution to fold and put away the laundry, to stop saving so many boxes all in the theory that one might be the "perfect" box for something next week (fell off the wagon on that one awhile ago,) and it seems like I made some other resolutions but they escape me at the moment.
See, if I had been writing about them, I would probably remember them!
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